


Carte blanche

by xcarex



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Birthday Presents, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-03
Updated: 2007-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:45:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcarex/pseuds/xcarex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Pete's birthday, and Patrick's gift is whatever Pete wants it to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carte blanche

**Author's Note:**

> Again, another old fic from back in the golden days of bandom, reposted for posterity.

"It's your birthday, Pete. Tonight you get carte blanche." 

Patrick tried to sound as enticing as possible, but it's difficult for anyone to be sexy with a party hat sticking out at an odd angle from their head. It's even harder to speak in a low, seductive voice when trying to be heard over a roomful of people obnoxiously singing "Happy Birthday," and so Patrick wasn't even sure that Pete had heard him.

Pete had.

Grinning widely, Pete blew out his birthday candles, and cheering ensued. Most people went back to their own conversations, and so, leaning in to Patrick's ear, he remarked "That's quite an offer." Patrick knew it. "When do these assholes leave?"

"After cake. And presents. And only some of them are assholes, Pete. Some of them are _your_ parents."

Pete's face flickered with disappointment. He wanted to take Patrick (home) immediately. But then... Cake. And presents!

It took three more hours for the festivities to die down. Pete had, admittedly, too many 'friends' and was socially obligated to chat with everyone in the room at least once. And Patrick was, admittedly, nervous. He stood by his offer (anything, anything!) but was still wary of Pete's often-wild imagination. They'd been carrying out this hopefully-still-mostly-secret relationship for barely more than a month, but there were still surprises left. And Pete has had three hours to come up with ideas.

Patrick wanted Pete to have the same kind of birthday he himself had gotten that year. The birthday when Pete had made the first move. He'd started this whole thing, mostly in an attempt to make up for the whole not remotely funny strip-o-gram. One amazing and surprisingly-not-awkward blowjob later, and they were even more inseparable than before, if possible. Pete deserved whatever Pete wanted.

The cab ride home from the party was a quiet one, with the exception of a little heavy breathing and the occasional grunt of appreciation. Pete was taking his free rein very seriously, and had snaked a hand into Patrick's lap when the driver wasn't looking. Their affair was, at Patrick's paranoid request, usually kept indoors and under sheets. Not out of shame, but he just wasn't ready to be as open as Pete usually is about his private life.

First, it was knuckles lightly dragging up and down Patrick's thigh, just to get his attention. But then, then it was Pete's hand sliding into even more valuable real estate. Patrick tried his best not to squirm with curious mixed nerves and delight. He tried even harder not to make any noise. They were almost home. Only a few blocks and a short elevator ride before Patrick could escape from his suddenly-too-tight jeans. 

Then Patrick's mind shifted generously. It was Pete's birthday, so oh, why was he getting all the fun? Edging closer to Pete, as close as his seat belt would allow, Patrick reached out a hand and returned the gesture. Pete let out a surprised groan, and grinned widely when, instead of worrying about the cabbie and pulling away, Patrick squeezed all the more purposefully at the swelling behind Pete's zipper. To be honest, Patrick was praying that the radio was enough to distract the cab driver for their backseat grope-session, because there was something about Pete that made Patrick very adamant to offer him the best possible birthday gift.

Besides, it felt _good_.

Aching and half-mad from the friction, Patrick paid the fare and clambered out of the taxi behind Pete. They'd only just gotten back from Europe, and were set to leave for California in a couple of days to start recording the new album. Patrick's apartment had barely been lived in for months, and he'd finally bought his way out of his lease. Thanks to his mother, everything non-essential was packed up in boxes, and he would move everything that wasn't coming to the west coast with him into storage the following afternoon. Regardless of where they were, however, this was home for tonight, and they were alone. That was enough.

It was already strangely familiar, even though they'd only been quote-unquote "together" for the last month. Every chance to sneak away and grope each other in the dark was taken with relish. But they hadn't really progressed much beyond hands in pleasant places and occasionally tongues. Basically, they hadn't fucked yet, and Patrick was nervous about his offer to Pete if only because of this. Pete had definitely had sex with men before, and would want it from Patrick soon enough. Patrick wasn't 100% certain that he was ready to put forward his virgin asshole, even to his best friend. And he was especially wary on a night like this where Pete was bouncing on his soles, waiting as patiently as he could for a boy sugar high on cake and ice cream. 

That energy was hot, and very usable, but Patrick expected nothing but blinding, horrible pain from sex with Pete, and would need the dark-haired birthday boy to be relatively patient, and more importantly, slower-moving. He wasn't looking for hearts-and-clouds fluffy love-making, but Pete had to be calm and coherent for Patrick to be comfortable. He trusted Pete, but he also _knew_ Pete. There was a precedent for getting carried away in the moment. But, despite those reservations, Patrick stuck by his promise. Anything, anything for Pete. He'd be worth it. Good, giving, game.

The two boys tumbled over one another in an attempt to both get the other a) undressed and b) in bed as quickly as possible. Tripping over boxes, suitcases and other debris of semi-nomadic living, they made their way down the short hallway to Patrick's bedroom. Smiling and biting in their kisses, Pete's enthusiasm was contagious. Glasses and hat set carefully aside, shoes kicked off, a trail of clothing and accessories followed behind their giddy lust. 

Grabbing at Pete's narrow waist, Patrick slid his hands down to those always tempting hip-bones and pulled them forward, grinding into him. This was not the time for slow and sensual. They were both hard, and both in need of major release. It wasn't like with women, where you usually had to take your time and work for something that wasn't really guaranteed to happen. Patrick liked sex with girls, but he also liked _Pete_. Pete was a dude. And that was surprisingly okay. It was ridiculously sexy being around Pete all the time, the man who was impossibly charming and always willing. Now that they were here, Patrick wondered how the fuck they'd been friends and in a band for five years, but had only recently discovered the magnetic force present between their cocks. Nothing could ever feel as right as it did for them to be like this, pressed up, all hands, all tongues, all moans and sighs.

Patrick pushed the birthday boyfriend down onto the mattress, and then quickly followed him down; assuming a level of control that often came with the title of gift-giver. He bit and sucked at Pete's golden neck; Pete's back arched and only increased the delicious friction between them.

"I hope you tipped the cabbie generously," Pete joked breathlessly into Patrick's ear. "You know he was totally listening to you." Patrick could practically hear Pete's grin in the dark. "You suck at keeping quiet." A warm tongue slid around the soft curve of Patrick's earlobe. "I love your noises."

Patrick knew he was blushing, but it didn't matter with Pete. Just go with it. "If I tipped big, it's only because I felt bad for the guy. He's stuck in his cab, and I'm up here with _you_." Patrick bucked his hips downward into Pete. "I saw the way he watched your ass as you got out of the back seat." Patrick rolled off onto his side, but Pete copied this new position, and they remained facing each other. "He's probably parked in the alley down there, jerking off."

Pete took this as a suggestion, and reached between them, squeezing Patrick's cock appreciatively. His voice dropped with mock-pity. "Poor cabbie. All alone. No one to give him a hand."

Patrick's eyes rolled beneath their closed lids and groaned at the lame pun. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. Pete was trying to take over again. Pete was the giftee. He was supposed to be the centre of attention (a given present in their public life that, to Patrick's surprise and pleasure, hadn't forced itself on their sex life as well.) Patrick wrapped his hand around the strong fist and pried away the fingers somewhat reluctantly, but kept holding Pete's hand in his.

Pete's eyes went wide with concern and practically glowed in the dark. "What?" It was unlike Patrick to deny Pete the pleasure of making him happy.

"No, _you_ what?" Patrick's words came in strange but intelligible strings. "You're the birthday boy. What do you want?"

Relief rolled through Pete's body like a wave. Oh, Patrick. Sweet and considerate. Pete shook his hand away from Patrick's warm grip and slid it back down to stroke Patrick's erection. "I want—" He gave it a strong, persuasive tug. "—to get you as hard as possible."

Patrick moaned deeply, surprised. "Why's that?"

"Because I want you to fuck me."

Patrick's first instinct would normally have probably been to freak out, and truthfully, he wasn't far from it right now, but he wouldn't let Pete know it. Just from the tone of his voice, Patrick could tell that Pete was serious. He knew it was going to happen eventually, but Patrick had just assumed that when they did end up fucking, it would be vice versa. But this, this was a scenario that Patrick had only vaguely hoped for, had only let himself idly dream about. A very subtle twist in Pete's wrist reminded Patrick very sharply that he was over-thinking, and consequently missing all the fun at present. Any nerves, any fear was shoved aside as he again attacked Pete's collarbone, neck, jaw, mouth with kisses. Yes. Yes, he was game.

Surely this was Pete's way of admitting that he'd been a bit domineering all evening, and was now willing to let Patrick to take control. It was certainly the opportune time for it. Patrick was doing his best to banish all feelings of fear and nervousness from his mind now, and it wasn't hard to clear those thoughts away. Pete was a little too good at this, and knew it.

"You'd better not come, Stump." Easier said than not done. Patrick's toes had already begun to curl involuntarily. With what could only be described as superhuman self-control, Patrick reached down and put a hand over Pete's, stilling it, mumbling "stop, stop" between kisses.

Pete did stop. His face flashed with concern again. "Now what's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing's wrong. Something's right." Patrick bit at Pete's lower lip, drawing him gently closer. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Those brown eyes were shining above him. "And a very happy birthday to me!"

Patrick snorted. Pete could make anything exceptionally cheesy, no matter how sexy or sweet it ought to be.

Pete leaned in, licking at Patrick's neck, slowly moving his hips and enjoying the friction between them, and unceremoniously asked where Patrick kept his lube. This caused a short moment of panic as Patrick saw only the stacks and rows of boxes littering his apartment, lining the halls. He then remembered with some relief that he'd jerked off only that morning, upon plotting his plans for the evening. "Second drawer, night stand." It was the only thing in the drawer. A tiny surge of nausea and embarrassment washed over Patrick, remembering that it was his mother who had packed up the apartment. And had pointedly _not_ packed his lube. Oh, Jesus.

Pete then launched himself off the bed and sprinted from the room, quite unexpectedly. Some fumbling and a light turned on at the end of the hallway.

"Pete?" There was little Patrick hated more than being left alone in this position (naked, hard and wanting) without justification.

The light switched off again, and Pete half-ran, half-stumbled back into the room, his eyes readjusting to the near-dark and pressing a condom into Patrick's hand as explanation. "I figured all of yours would be packed. Or expired."

Jerk. Patrick punched him in the arm, only somewhat lightly. "You're certainly prepared." A wry smile. "Did you have plans for tonight that I should know about?

Pete's face dropped into sincerity. "No plans. Just hope."

"Been hoping for awhile?"

"Not that long. I wanted to be sure that you were ready for this." Pete could go from teasing to tender in the blink of an eye. "If you're still not, 'Trick, it's okay. Don't feel obligated to—unhh!"

Patrick pushed one slick finger inside of Pete, then another. Pete clenched around him, and then quickly relaxed. It was Patrick that surprised him, that never stopped surprising him.

They exchanged looks in the dim light glowing through the window. Chicago illuminated the scene. Pete pressed back against Patrick's fingers, tearing open the wrapper and rolling the condom down Patrick's length, hand shaking slightly. Patrick marveled: was Pete actually nervous? It was hardly Pete's first time. He shouldn't be. No, not nervous. Just sugar-filled and excited. This was it. They'd danced around it long enough.

Pete leaned in again to kiss Patrick long and slow, and all movement stopped. Silence. Just lips and lazy-turning-insistent tongues.

"Okay?" Pete's body asked.

"Yeah," Patrick's responded, rolling Pete over onto his back. With a surprising amount of speed and self-assurance, he hooked Pete behind the knees, pulling his legs apart, bending them upwards and then pushing himself inside without a second thought.

Pete was warm, tight, and Patrick only felt a little bit awkward. He began to move his hips and the awkwardness melted away with the rest of his mental capacities. Patrick could get used to this feeling. Very, very used to this.

And Pete... Pete didn't care that the angle wasn't quite right, or that Patrick hesitated briefly before every thrust, wasn't fucking him as rapidly or with as much certainty or skill as other boys Pete had had. Pete only heard the pleased grunts, only saw the glowing skin of the boy trying so hard to please him, jerking him closer and closer to coming. It was kind of awkward, but it was definitely working. 

This was Patrick, _his_ Patrick, so none of that mattered. Practice would make perfect. And feeling Patrick's hips stutter, hearing the unintelligible moans as Patrick came inside him, it was as close to perfect as Pete could possibly hope for. Cheesy as fuck, but he didn't care. He let himself go.

No other boy, no other birthday could compare to this. Filling with warmth, Pete flipped through his mental calendar for the next holiday, hoping to repay this delicious favour sooner rather than later. Collapsing atop him, Patrick panted, still grinning, still shaking with pleasure.

Pete curled his fingers through strawberry blond hair and formed a plan. 

Flag Day would never be the same again.

**Author's Note:**

> See original comments [here](http://community.livejournal.com/patrickxpeter/577065.html).


End file.
